Tag Archives: Vaclav Dusil

Diary • 13th March 1994

• My swimming career began at eleven, introduced to me by my Mom. Taci wasn’t interested in the sport so he didn’t pay much attention to my development. His hopes were in judo and soccer, but that didn’t work out so well. At the time, this was more obvious to Taci than myself. Regardless, my Mom encouraged me. She drove me to practice and attended swim meets. That support isn’t so evident until you look back at the effort required from parents. I still remember my first swim practice. I walked in with Sean Simms, Eric Finstad, and Gareth Jones. They asked me how well I can swim. Unaware of what lay ahead of me, I said that I was a good swimmer. But my first mistake was showing up with no goggles. Within five minutes my eyes were burning from the chlorine, and I was shuffled down to the last lane, with the novices. It was a reality check, and a bump to my ego, but I stuck with it and eventually learned the concept of lanes, direction, and swimming etiquette. I moved to the senior lanes after half a year. Roman joined a few months after me. He was a born breaststroker, thanks to his father, and didn’t have to start from the ground-up, like me. As the months followed, Vlasta, Soňa, and Alica gave it a try as well. Only Vlasta made a teen-career out of the sport.

• Moving to the senior team didn’t just mean moving up the lanes. It meant meeting Morris Vallencourt, the head coach. He was not much of a family man, as the parents would say, but as a coach he was awesome. He taught us discipline, organisation, leadership, passion, concentration, patience, work ethic, dealing with pain, winning and learning from our losses. His resume consisted of coaching the famous Hamilton swim team and several swimmers to national class. He was a mentor in my eyes. On the flip side, many parents had a strong disliking to him. The truth is Morris was not interested in satisfying parental agendas. He only cared about the swimmers. Besides, the political conflicts between the parents and Morris were uninteresting to me. When parents wanted their kids to swim backstroke Morris insisted on freestyle. When a swimmer complained of menstrual cramps Morris said, “Swim it off”. When a swimmer had a bleeding nose, Morris said, “Swim it off”. From my vantage point politics consisted of Morris’s salary and parental meddling into what they felt was best for their kid. Most of the swim team was behind Morris. Looking back, he was truly an wicked coach.

I Remember Taci

I remember when Taci would drive me to school in the morning, and sometimes I’d be late because of the train tracks.

I remember when Taci walked up the stairs and his ankles would crack.

I remember when Taci shared his grapefruit with me, and when he peeled me a big piece he said it was a ‘horsie bite’. If it was bigger than that, it was an ‘elephant bite’, and the biggest one was a ‘buffalo bite’.

I remember going to the Canadian National Exhibition and a carnival game would chant ‘doggie doggie, buffalo buffalo”. Taci would say that for years later, when he was in a good mood.

I remember when Taci took me to my guitar lessons.

I remember when Taci would play the banjo at night.

I remember Taci teaching judo, and wrestling with his students.

I remember when Taci and I went to the 1976 Olympic Games, and I asking him why he wasn’t fighting in the Judo matches with the other men.

I remember when Taci watched NHL hockey. He would ask me to get him a beer from the fridge, and I’d secretly take a sip before bringing it to him.

I remember when Charlotte’s Web premiered on television but I cried because I wasn’t allowed to watch it, because of hockey.

I remember when Taci bought the Aldershot Animal Hospital and we slept there for six months till our house was built.

I remember when Taci was upset with me because I filed a client card incorrectly, and he couldn’t find it.

I remember when Taci was operating on a dog, and the air smelled bad.

I remember when Taci told Mamička about the clients that visited that day.

I remember our great dane respected and loved Taci a lot.

I remember when Taci built a pool for us in the back yard, and he played with us.

I remember when Taci chasing me and my cousins around the house, and how happy I was to have a dad that played with me.

I remember when Taci built a deck and I helped by holding the measuring tape. Taci kept saying 69″ with each board he measured and from that day forward we called the measuring tape ’69’.

I remember Taci telling me stories about his family, and how life was like in Czechoslovakia.

I remember asking Taci why we left, and I noticed how sad he was, telling me that communism will unlikely fall in our lifetime.

I remember how Taci talked to and respected everyone, even an elevator attendant.

I remember when I asked Taci about the birds and the bees and he told me that you should love someone if you make love.

I remember when Taci would stand by the window and look at the ravine for a long time, thinking about stuff.

I remember when Taci stood in the kitchen, looking depressed, and I wanting to tell him that everything would be OK.

I remember when Taci came out of the house when I was playing basketball. He looked at the house, as if for the last time. As he walked down the street I thought I would never see him again.

Diary • 31st December 1993

• I arrived in Košice on the morning of December 23rd. The train ride was ten hours, and not relaxing in the least. I initially bought a second class ticket, but ended up exchanging it for first class after seeing the uncomfortable seating arrangements. Even in first class our cabin soon filled to its six person capacity. Sleeping in a sitting position was terrible, but eventually people disembarked, allowing room to stretch out. On my arrival Richard and Csaba Kende greeted me at the train station. I stayed at Csaba’s, with the exception of two nights spent at Rišo and Terka’s.

• On the day of my arrival I was honored to attend Rišo’s grading for his second degree judo black belt. I took a few pictures. Most notable was the chronicle of judoka, posted at the entrance of the dojo, showing the first black belts. At the top of the list were:

As I looked at my dad and uncle’s names, I felt proud. I was reminded at that moment of what they contributed to the history judo, in this small town.

• My week in Košice got me thinking of how it must have been for my parents when I was born. I began to realise the impact of their decision to leave their homeland in 1969. The fear and anxiety during those days, hoping that where they were headed was better than where they came from. As Csaba explained it, ten judoka left the dojo for the West. But from those who left, the club’s greatest loss has been the Dusil’s. How could they have all known they were making the right decision?

• I could have stayed in Canada, and continued to shut my eyes to the significance that Košice represents. But I chose to return to my parent’s homeland and learn. My week in Košice has also taught me the economic consequences of the socialist regime of the Eastern Block. We left twenty-four years ago because of politics, and my parents unwillingness to subject themselves to communist servitude. Now I’ve come full circle and moved back to my roots, to start a new life in Prague. The Czech Republic is now a free market, so my future resides in capitalist system. On top of that I get to learn about international business, culture, and etiquette. I intend to learn for my future and entreprenéurial destiny.

• So have I made the right decision? Will I prosper in Eastern Europe? Will I exceed, or at the very least, match the success of my parents? Will I become a stronger person? Will I be happy? These questions I will continually ask myself as I search for my identity.

Diary • 22nd October 1993

• I was four when we left Brampton. I still refer to that apartment complex as the “red buildings”. My cousin Roman and friend Laco Dobis lived in the twin building next door. Taci worked in the local Veterinary office while mom was studying at Guelph University. At night Taci and I would go to Judo. As a second degree he would teach the students, and as a white belt I would participate in the warmup and then play at the back of the dojo. The summer before turning five we moved to Burlington. We slept at the Animal Hospital while our house in Tyandaga was being built.

• In September 1974, and it was my first day of school at Holy Rosary. Mom was with me, and our first stop was the Principle’s office (A room I would frequently visit during my elementary years). That first day of Kindergarten was traumatic. When I walked into the classroom all the kids were playing. But, I felt as though everyone already knew each other – as if I was entering the class in the middle of the school season. I was very shy and it took me a while before adjusting to the new setting. My first friend was Patrick Pongetti. He was quiet like me. Neither of us were interested in following the alphas. Our friendship lasted until we graduated.

• Soon enough I became a trouble maker. Partly due to befriending Danny Berris, who got under my skin on several occasions. I’m sure I pissed him off just as often. All kids fight and I was no exception. Kids can also be very nasty, and I didn’t take that lightly. My first report card said, “Gabriel is still hitting the other children”. Budding in line, and name calling were dealt with five-year-old violence. A receptionist at the Animal Hospital – and seventh grader at the time, Michele Cieslik – once told me that she watched someone bud in front of me in line, and I punched him.

• Mom told me that that I was a real trouble maker for the first few years at Holy Rosary. Most of those memories have faded but I do remember one event that ultimately put closure to that behavior. It was grade three and I was in the Principle’s office with Danny, and our teacher. Principle Butt lectured us on our bad behavior, and all the while I was wonder if the pending strap would be on our bare bums, or not. So the time had come, and Principle Butt did me the honours, and Danny got his beating from the teacher. While getting the strap I was surprised how lightly I was being hit. It didn’t hurt at all. When it was all over, Danny was whimpering as we walked back to the classroom. I remembered vividly thinking how stupid it was for him to cry, because it didn’t hurt. So what was he crying about? It was the first and last time I got the strap. And from that point onward Danny and I were separated in our seating arrangements. Anyways,… the pants stayed on.

• The first two years of middle school were hard on me. We learned about farming, agriculture, and how to work the land. But my studies had little to do with animals, and that demotivated me. I was immature and undisciplined. It also aggravated my teachers, and subsequently upset my mother. She frequently had to come to school to smooth things over. I was bored with sitting in class when all I wanted to do was be on the farm. By the third year I found my calling since we were finally allowed to spend time on the school’s farm. I loved to be around the horses. I befriended one of the shepherds and many of the farmers. I was in my element, but quickly learned that the horses were not bred for the aristocratic activities that I had imagined. Instead, once they were mature they were sold to co-ops for farm labor.

• One summer my father kept pestering my mother, asking why I was spending so much time on the farm. He didn’t know what I was doing, or even if I was lying about my whereabouts. Most teenagers my age spent their days at the city pool. I did as well, but then went to the farm in the afternoon. By this time my father had retired. My mother eventually had enough of his nagging and told him to go see for himself. So he dressed up elegantly and accompanied me on this one and only visit to the farm. It was the closest he had ever come to such a grassroots lifestyle. When we arrived he talked to the farm employees and I showed him how I taught a mare to kneel, rear up on her hind legs, and kick on command as I tickled her rump. He was amused and it satisfied his curiosity. Then he watched as I disappeared into the distance on my dappled horse. My father had an excellent sense of humor so it became a running joke, among family and friends, that his daughter was more interested in four legged animals than the two legged kind.

• My early inspiration to veterinary medicine was from a veterinary student named Karel Šestak. He was renting a room in our apartment, and was studying at our local Veterinary College. Thanks to him I knew that I wanted to be a veterinarian. I was ten years old at the time. When I told him my aspirations, he smiled, as if not believing in a young girl’s dream. But he wished me well. Little did he know that one day we would become professional colleagues. Karel lived in our apartment until he graduated. He married the neighbor’s daughter and went on to work as a county veterinarian not far from where we lived.

• I was in ninth grade when I decided which middle school to attend. At that time in Czechoslovakia, we had two types of middle school. There were high schools called “gymnasium”. They prepared students for academic university studies such as engineering, law or medicine. Gymnasium is where the intellectuals went, and were viewed by the communists as the future leaders of the country. Then there were ‘technical’ schools for machinery, administration, or agriculture. Veterinary studies at the time was not considered an intellectual discipline because it fell under the umbrella of farming and husbandry. It was possible to attend university from a technical middle school, but it was much harder to get in. Luckily a veterinary technical school called Poľnohospodárska Technická Škola (PTŠ) was close by my home, on the outskirt of the city. I began my studies there in 1960. Little did I know that my future husband had just finished his final year at the same middle school, three months earlier.

• According to communist propaganda, only rich people could attend university in the West. They told us many lies, trying to convince us that Socialism was superior to Capitalism. Constant propaganda brainwashed citizens in believing that the West was an evil imperialist empire. History has told a different story. Either way, the borders were essentially closed to the public, except for a select few who were allowed to travel and see the real picture with their own eyes. This included politicians and top athletes. Communist leaders told us that they were protecting our borders from the evil capitalists. But the ongoing joke was asking why border guns were facing their own citizens, and not the enemy.

• The younger generation believed much of what was told to them. When you grow up seeing, hearing, and reading propaganda, you believe it. Especially when you don’t know any different. Most citizens didn’t have any idea what the West was like. When we finally immigrated to Canada in 1969, our stories filtered back to family and friends in Czechoslovakia. The Canadian government offered us English language courses for free, and financial help get us on our own feet. We bought a cheap camera and took pictures among the fruit stands of a grocery store, to show our parents we weren’t starving. In those days our friends and family had to line up for toilet paper, potatoes, bread and other daily necessities. Store shelves in Eastern Europe were practically empty. Once in Canada, our eyes finally opened to the success of democracy and freedom. It was hard for the Communists to keep that a secret.